


A Night of Ice and Fire

by mggislife2789



Category: Criminal Minds, Spencer Reid - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Fireplaces, Reader-Insert, Snow, Sweaters, winter night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-10
Updated: 2017-08-10
Packaged: 2018-12-13 17:43:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11765067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mggislife2789/pseuds/mggislife2789
Summary: Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters or their original stories. This is only for fun. It's where my brain goes after the credits roll. No copyright intended. Better safe than sorry. ;)





	A Night of Ice and Fire

Hardwood mahogany floors creaked slightly underfoot. Despite the heat being on in the house, there was a slight chill in the air, probably because winter was just beginning, the first falls of snow drifting softly outside your windows. The green of the grass was slowly fading into white. Hopefully, by the morning, it would be covered, and you and your husband could spend a cozy, lazy day in bed. 

As you walked out from your bedroom, Spencer was putting a log on the fire - crumpled pieces of paper were strewn on the sides of the wood, kindling for the fire he was going to create. A sleepy, warm night at home was what you both needed. 

Spencer successfully lit the fire and playfully pumped his fists in the air. “I did it!” He laughed. You couldn’t even count how many times he’d failed to start a fire. Survival skills weren’t his strong suit - at least not the execution of them. “You look gorgeous.”

“This,” you giggled softly. “Eh.” You shrugged and looked down at the sweater you’d knitted yourself. It was basically a Harry Potter sweater; the kind that Mrs. Weasley made for all her kids, including Harry, except this one had the first letter of your name on the front. It was enormous and soft and cozy and could probably fit two people in it. However, considering you were only wearing the sweater and a pair of panties, you could understand why Spencer enjoyed the view.

While you walked over to the window to watch the snowfall, Spencer ensured that the fire was roaring and readying to go. Once he had, he came to join you, wrapping his arms around your waist. You could feel his nimble fingers through the yarn of your sweater and it warmed you up even more. Like a child, you pressed your head against the chilled window, watching as the glass fogged with the help of your breath. “Spencer loves Y/N,” you said, sliding your finger against the window. Your husband kissed your neck and turned you back around toward the fireplace, which was now crackling up a storm. 

“Do you want to watch a movie?” The slight strain in his voice told you he didn’t really want to watch a movie either. 

Spencer took a few steps backward and plopped down on the couch. “No,” you said, “I think I’d rather watch the snow fall and have you play with my hair.”

Moments like these were what made life worth living. Your husband smiled warmly up at you, his cheeks blushing slightly considering you were already married; you found it cute that he still blushed in front of you. And you were warm and comfortable, completely and totally relaxed, and feeling more loved than anyone had a right to. “I think I can do that,” he said. He reached out his hand, but you playfully jumped away, running into the bedroom to grab your knitting bag before returning to sit with your head in Spencer’s lap. 

With a laugh, you turned into Spencer’s stomach and blew a raspberry on it before grabbing your knitting. “What are you making now?” He asked sleepily. 

“I’m making you a sweater,” you replied with a lazy smile that probably made you look a little drunk. You lifted up the half-finished piece for him to look at; it was purple of course - a deep, dark purple for the sweater itself, and a lighter one for the ‘S’ of his name. “We both have to have Harry Potter sweaters.” It really just made sense. Mrs. Weasley made them for everyone, so you had to make them for everyone you knew, staring with yourself and your husband.

It felt like hours had gone by, you knitting, seemingly in rhythm with the crackling of the fire, and Spencer snaking his fingers through your hair in line with the falling of snow. Sleep was starting to overtake you both, his fingers stilling in your hair while your knits and purls became slower and slower. Then out of nowhere, as if he’d been thinking about this exact fact for the past few hours, he spoke again. “You don’t want me to wear that sweater the same way you do, right? Like, with nothing underneath?”

“Spence,” you cackled, rolling your head in his lap. “I mean if you want to, but you know, with boxers, with flannel pajama pants, however you want to wear it. It’ll just be warm and comfortable and inspired by Harry Potter, so what could be better?”

“Well, it was made by you,” he said as he leaned down to kiss your forehead. “That makes it better.” The fire had nearly been snuffed out, its embers a deep orange and begging for some tinder to bring it to life again, but it was getting late and both of you were getting quite tired, so Spencer put out the fire and you closed the blinds. “Still snowing?”

As you raked your hand through your hair, you nodded. The grass could no longer be seen; it was just barely covered by a layer of snow. Again, he came to hug you from behind as you looked out the window, swaying back and forth without words, only the sounds of delicate winds and the house’s heater. “It’s getting chilly over here,” he said, burying his head in your neck. “Ready to go to bed?”

“Mmmhmm,” you mumbled, turning around and lifting the front of the sweater up. You pulled it over his head so that the two of you were now standing in the middle of your living room in one sweater. “You look cute with a sweater and messy hair.”

After a perfect night filled with a warm fire and falling snow, you both awkwardly shuffled your way into your bedroom, bound together by a fluffy sweater.


End file.
